I think about nature.
When my mind is left to wander through itself I would wager that I think about nature and textiles 90% of the time.
I love all manner of flora. I will stop what ever it is I’m doing to admire and take pictures of flowers. I love fall and spring in equal measure. Being able to watch nature explode into vibrant color before falling asleep and softly wake up every year is, to me, one of the greatest gifts life bestows.
When I look into a flower I think about how perfect nature is. How simple. How easily it adapts. Nothing really gives me more pleasure then to see flowers sprouting through concrete and asphalt parking lots cracked by grass. Funny as it sounds, that sight gives me hope. No matter how much we try to pave over beauty, it will always prevail.
Maybe that is why I will wear a floral pattern 9 times out of 10. No matter what the circumstance I can wrap myself in that beauty like a blanket and feel safe. I look to the flowers for inspiration on many things.
From what to wear
to lipstick color
to how to just be
And where flowers influence my outer world, my soul belongs to my beloved trees.
So majestic. So intriguing. I have sat for hours watching them.
I live in the middle of Redwoods (I always feel that word commands capitalization) and during a windstorm I will go outside on the porch, even if it’s 2 in the morning, and just listen. Listening to the wind going through the trees might be the only time I am completely still in body and soul. When I place my hand on the trunk of a tree, I can’t help but ponder everything that has taken place on the planet while that particular tree was standing right there and I also wonder what the tree will stand through long after I’m gone. I think about how tall they grow and how far their roots reach. How even after they are cut or fall down they can sustain life, from fire to shelter to hosting sucklings and animals.
Maybe this love is because I’ve spent a lot of time in the woods. How could I not have given that I’m a native of Colorado. In utero in Lake City. Born in Gunnison. Raised between Woodland Park and Colorado Springs until I was 8. Bouncing between Colorado Springs and Seattle when I was a teenager. Driving back and forth for days on end. Staring out car windows or laying down in the back of an old Ford f150 watching the country go by. And so, the trees became the background of my childhood.
If I were to close my eyes and think of those times, I see color. Robins egg blue sky, brick red dirt, mossy green trees and gray asphalt at 60 miles an hour through holes in the floor boards.
When I was a little girl, where ever we would live, I would build houses in the woods. I’d find a group of trees that suited my design plan, forage branches, build walls and make the most comfortable beds out of the needles. There I would spend hours building my little life. Playing at what I thought was normal. I would read, I would listen to music. I would play out parts of imagination. I would stay as long as possible. Those trees became my friends. My family. They were always there for me. Like Orion. There was a time in my life that I moved so much I would see that constellation year round. He conjures up memories more then any photo ever could.
Like a lot of mornings past, as the branches shadows played on my window shade, I woke up thinking about trees. I went out on the porch and watched the branches sway in the wind. When I came in to write, my mind gingerly enjoying the peace that is what the woods bring to me, this is what came out.
And so maybe my father knew what he was doing when he named me Meadow Brooke. He tied me in name to what became one of the most stable things in my life. I’ve always been proud of my name. It was my fathers only legacy to me. I like to think that he somehow knew I was like him and that somehow he knew he couldn’t be around so he protected me with a name that would inherently draw me to that which is soothing to my soul. If I were ever anything, I was (and am) a lipstick lovin’ child of nature.